


Electric Silk

by JakkuCrew (fromstars)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Rockstar AU, glam rock au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 21:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14341419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromstars/pseuds/JakkuCrew
Summary: Love at first sight in the music business was a fool’s gamble.





	Electric Silk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cognomen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/gifts).



> I hope this is in the spirit of what you were looking for! Haha. :) I had lots of fun listening to 70's/80's playlists on spotify while writing this.
> 
> _________
> 
> Prompted: Just give me Ben Solo, glam rock fashion icon, dressing his lanky ridiculous body in a sequinned jumpsuit and jamming about space while girls and boys throw their underwear at the stage. Hardworking manager Poe Dameron does his best to keep his spoiled rockstar charge from trashing every hotel room he stays in for aesthetic. Sometimes a little creative distraction helps....

_Eight Months Ago._

Poe Dameron didn’t believe in love at first sight.

Eyes closed, he bit his lip and began to focus, letting the world around him melt away. There were some things that were harder than others to ignore – the overpowering scent of sweet hairspray on the queen next to him, the sticky heat of his leather pants clinging tight to his thighs, and the lurid spice of his drink still caught on his tongue. But once the music began, he could ignore them.

Love at first sight in the music business was a fool’s gamble. Any asshole who could fumble his way through three chords could look impressive on stage. Real talent, good music was so much more than that.

Good music was like sex. It needed to feel good even when his eyes weren’t open. It needed to fuck him.

Poe waited for the clash of drumsticks counting the band off before he tipped his head back against the couch shoved in the corner of the club. A thick baseline vibrated at the base of his spine and he exhaled softly, tensing in anticipation. The guitar joined in with a twinge, and the lights behind Poe’s eyelids flickered.

Cheers rose up when the singer began, a rumbling voice that may as well have licked up Poe’s neck in a sultry taunt. He shivered, letting a grin slip across his lips as the people around him abandoned their glasses with a muted clatter and rose up to dance. Thankfully, they knew better than to push him into dancing before he had finished his musical tasting. The air around him shifted, and Poe stretched, his flimsy shirt riding up as he did so. Without any shame, Poe swallowed as the music hit the back of his throat.

He didn’t have to work A&R to enjoy a little talent on his birthday.

A deep growl from the singer jolted him from his spell. Poe’s gaze dropped from the club’s stage lights to the band, colors pulsing back into his vision as his eyes adjusted.

The music was sticky, Poe thought, letting it slip over him like hot honey. At the front of the stage, the singer had dropped to his knees, eyes black and wild. Tendrils of glossy, dark hair dampened by sweat clung to his skin, emphasizing the smear of red lipstick painted over a scar that gashed across the man’s face. He was bigger than the the other men on stage - hell, bigger than most musicians Poe had ever met, broad in the shoulders and built like an steel skyscraper ripe for hanging off of. His guitar had been abandoned, laid at his feet as another member of the band picked up in his place. The singer’s chest shook with effort, and Poe watched as the man’s muscles tensed underneath the black mesh turtleneck he wore, cropped high on his chest. He cupped the microphone close to his mouth and arched back, his knees sliding further apart as he did so, thighs straining against buttery leather pants.

Poe pushed himself up from the couch, his own pulse thrumming in his ears. He stepped forwards to get a better look at the stage, imagining the singer kneeling before him instead of the audience. The way the lipstick would smear across hot skin, and how dark hair would feel pulled through his fingers.

“Shit,” Poe said, the word inaudible under the fervor of the club. He sidestepped the table littered with his friends drinks, and moved closer to the stage. The audience was just as beguiled as he was, but instead of staring they had let themselves free - hips swinging and bodies twisting as they danced.

Poe licked his lips, his gaze dropping as the singer slid his hand between his legs suggestively. The frontman palmed his cock through the leather and rolled his hips, his fiery voice slipping into a smokier rasp as he scanned the room. He went from searching to wanting, and as the tempo built, he wrenched his hand back down his thighs, teasing the audience as much as himself.

It was then that their eyes met, and the singer smirked, sending a hot flush through Poe’s body. He looked…hungry. Poe was ravenous.

“What do you think, birthday boy?” a friendly voice rumbled into his ear over the roar of the club.

“I think,” Poe said hoarsely, “-that you need to call A&R and tell them to sign the band. Or they’ll go with someone else, and we’ll be well and truly fucked.”

This elicited a laugh. “Talent managers are telling A&R what to do now?”

“Shut up and go make the call.” Poe said firmly. “And get me another shot of tequila. I’m done thinking about work for the night.”

 

* * *

The coffee hadn’t kicked in yet.

“No. No way in hell—,” Poe let the file drop to the desk with a smack. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Snap.”

The coffee hadn’t kicked in yet, and Poe was tasting the first threat of a headache building in his temple. It was mornings like this that justified the cheap coffee maker squeezed onto the file cabinet behind his desk. Without looking, Poe reached back and grabbed the pot, dumping its contents into his emptied mug.

“I won’t do it.” Poe added.

Snap looked chagrined.

“Holdo didn’t exactly ask,” Snap said, leaning forwards to stub out his lit cigarette in an ashtray before Poe could complain. (He didn’t want his goddamn paperwork to smell of cheap ash any more than he wanted to have paperwork.)

“Then we’re going to have an interesting meeting this morning, aren’t we?” Poe replied, peeling open small cups of creamer before he poured them all into his cup.

For a brief moment, Poe wondered if he should sharpie the words _‘Fuck No,’_ onto the mug’s outside. Just for emphasis.

“Poe, come on. It honestly makes sense for you to take on another client. You’ve been building up to it anyways. Everyone knows you’re the best talent manager the label has–,”

“–And his biggest client is not currently producing any music,” a voice interrupted. Snap jumped as Amilyn Holdo slipped in through the office door behind him. Poe fought off a wince.

“Dameron, when I call for a meeting, it’s not a request,” she said calmly. “Your client is not going to be working for the company for the foreseeable future, and you will be reassigned.”

“My client,” Poe muttered, “-is only taking a hiatus because I did the right thing and dragged D.J.’s ass to rehab. I don’t see why I should be punished for that.”

Holdo tilted her head at that, shaking a loose pink curl free from behind her ear. “This is hardly a punishment. Working with Ben on his sophomore album will help attain lasting success for one of our artists.”

Snap sighed. “But a sophomore album?”

The danger of a sophomore slump went unsaid. Poe worried at his bottom lip as Snap continued.

“–With Kylo?” Snap said in disbelief. “How is he any less volatile for Poe to manage? He fired two different managers before he’d even finished his debut album.”

Amilyn pursed her lips into a pink knife-thin line.

 _Fuck,_ Poe thought.

“Snap’s right,” Poe said slowly after he drained the last of his coffee. “Ben’s a liability to any sane manager. He’ll fire me too, and then what? You still won’t have a second album.”

“Oh, I assure you,” Amilyn said, pressing a slender palm against Poe’s desk, leaning in. She dumped a thick manila folder onto Poe’s desk with a resounding slap. “Ben Solo won’t be firing you.”

“He won’t?” Snap echoed. Poe folded his arms over his chest.

“He was made aware that the consequences of firing his next manager would be termination of his contract,” she said simply, flipping over the front page of the Kylo folder for Poe’s viewing. “Everything you’ll need to start is in here.” Amilyn finished. She tapped a manicured pink nail on the page, drawing Poe’s gaze to the signature line.

Ben - the artist _Kylo Ren_ \- had already signed.

All that was left was for Poe to sign off.

Poe exhaled slowly. Then, without looking either Snap or Holdo in the eye, he reached for his pen. Twisting the ballpoint, he let the tip hover over the blank page for a moment.

“I’m not the only one with a client or two in rehab,” he reminded Holdo. He wasn’t the only manager for the label who had problem clients. Hell, Poe himself was clean, which sometimes looked like a miracle, or at least something that should’ve been appreciated a little more enthusiastically by his bosses. “You could’ve had anyone take this client.”

Holdo shrugged. “I could have,” she conceded, withdrawing her hand from the folder. “Ben Solo asked for you specifically.”

_Oh._

The pen hit the page in stunned response, leaving a thick dot of ink behind. Poe quickly scrawled his name on the page.

“…Lucky me.”

* * *

 

It wasn't lucky at all. This was, as far as Poe was concerned, his own bad karma for pushing to get Ben Solo signed.

Ben was temperamental. He was volatile, even when he wasn't acting as Kylo Ren on a stage. He sulked. He argued. His fans mailed him things that Poe considered biohazardous waste, and he often left behind a trail of black glitter on whatever he touched. A single argument on lyrics for a potential song on his sophomore album had sent the trash can of crumpled lyrics sheets flying. Ben wasn't an addict, which was helpful, but it didn't seem to cure his attitude any. Worst of all, Ben was just as distracting on stage as he was off stage. The magnetism didn't just go away - it got worse.

Ben would tell him to fuck off, Poe would snap at him for smoking in his office, and then they'd lock eyes for a tense moment before they both finally backed down. Poe tried not to let his imagination run away with him. He was pretty sure Ben only smoked in his office to fuck with him. He never seemed to actually take a drag. It was all just to get under his skin. (Poe tried not to think too long about getting under Ben's skin.) The sticky, stained fanmail and packaged panties on the other hand, were thankfully not intentional on Ben's part, and were quickly delegated to being a hapless intern's problem. 

After three weeks of fighting around the record label offices, Poe had called around and booked a studio-house for a week. New albums didn’t drop out of the sky, but occasionally they could be helped along by taking a musician’s retreat out of the city and into isolation.

It was a small place, just big enough to have the basics squeezed in. Instead of a master bedroom, there was a studio. The kitchen was small enough to make its microwave look big by comparison, and someone had wedged a TV into a corner of the living room. There was only one bed, a queen-size shoved tight into the second bedroom, but Poe had heard solid reviews about the couch. And in Poe's book, a week's worth of back pain was a decent trade off for forcing his artist to sit down and work. If Ben really pissed him off, Poe would simply make the taller man try and sleep on the couch for a few nights.

A good leg cramp was bound to inspire something.

Even if it what it ended up inspiring was Ben snarling at him.

* * *

By the third night, music had been written, but the tension of working with Ben had only gotten worse.

Poe had babysat difficult artists before as a manager. DJ in particular had needed to be herded through the creative process, pushed as far as he could go before a composer and a sound engineer stepped in to spackle over the mess.

But Ben... Ben was _different_.

Ben was talented.

Which was why Poe found himself wondering why he even needed to be standing over Ben’s shoulder, listening when Ben began to play different compositions on the piano, or waiting to make sure actual work was done.

But when Ben began to work, he became a sight to watch. His long fingers would glide across ivory keys, teasing out harmonies and melodies, passion poured out while he played. Poe also found himself unable to look away when Ben switched to his guitar, playing notes that reverberated in Poe's chest and sent shivers down his spine. The further Ben got into a composition, the more Ben's dark hair would slip over his eyes as he worked, catching against day old mascara in his eyelashes. It was distracting. It was mesmerizing. And it was better than any other musician Poe had ever had to pull an album out of.

It also was punctuated by notes of Ben's stubbornness and perfectionism.

Over the first few days, they’d made an only slightly begrudging check-in system, where Ben would hand off his notebook in the evenings instead of simply chucking crumpled lyrics sheets in the trash and before handing Poe the can.

“You still haven’t asked me why,” Ben said as he dropped his lyrics notebook in front of Poe.

“Why what?” Poe raised a brow, opening up the black book he’d given Ben.

“Why I asked the label to assign you as my manager.”

"I didn't think it mattered," Poe replied. "You needed a new manager after firing two."

"...I did. You didn't ask why I fired them."

Poe sighed. He flipped a page in Ben's notebook, and began to scan the page for progress. "No, I didn't. So why the hell did you fire two managers?" he asked.

Ben swallowed. He leaned down to watch Poe with a piercing expression that made something warm bloom in Poe's chest.

“They didn’t understand the music,” he explained, “-they thought it was all an act.”

Poe paused. “As opposed to…?” he asked, studiously avoiding staring at Ben’s jawline.

“As opposed to really enjoying wearing leather.” Ben said dryly.

“No one really enjoys wearing leather, even if you do look good wearing it.” Poe retorted, turning another page. He faltered, reading through Ben’s explanation of the next drafted song written out in a spiky scrawl –

_‘Because I want to fuck you’_

“–You think I look good in leather?” Ben said, amused.

“Don’t fish for compliments,” Poe said, ignoring the question. He inhaled, scanning the bars of a bass line Ben had scribbled onto the page beneath his chorus. “Why’dya think I understand your music better? You’ve only seen me around the building a few times. I don’t even manage other artists with your kind of sound.”

Which was true. DJ had produced straightforwards rock music - nothing too complicated or complex. Poe suspected his mind was too fried to get past a three chord progression anyways. He was used to managing troublemakers and burn outs, but none of them sounded like Kylo Ren - they weren’t half as creative. Hell, almost none of them could properly write music like Ben did.

Couldn’t make the hairs on the back of Poe’s neck stand up when they played like Ben did.

“I know you scouted me,” Ben said. “I saw you that night. The gig that got me signed,” he added. “You were watching me,” Ben added. He furrowed a brow at Poe, as if the insistence would make his words any clearer.

“A lot of people from the label were watching you,” Poe replied, pushing aside Ben’s notebook. “Which is a good way to get signed to a label. Having successful shows,” he said, finding himself unable to look away from Ben’s unwavering gaze.

 _Hell_.

“You understand,” Ben continued, “What inspires me. The rest of them don’t feel it.”

“Buddy,” Poe said, leaning back into the couch. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“You–,” Ben pulled back a fraction, “You have to understand. I’m not like the other artists,” he insisted, with a frown that wavered for a second.

“You’re special?” Poe offered, amused.

“Fuck off,” Ben huffed, irritation flushing his cheeks. “You’re special,” he explained, before wincing at his own words. Too stubborn to admit to his fumbling, Ben leaned back in to crowd Poe’s space, half-kneeling on the couch cushion beside him. “You,” Ben said slowly, dropping a warm hand to Poe’s thigh, “– _understand_. How I feel.”

Poe’s breath hitched as his world narrowed to the sensation of Ben’s hand, fingers pressing into denim. He wanted to laugh, caught under Ben’s searching look and knowing palm. The realization sunk in to the back of his mind – Poe wasn’t here to micromanage an artist. He was here to be a muse.

And to be just as goddamned difficult as Ben was.

Poe licked his lips. He looked at Ben – studied his thick, dark eyelashes. Wanted to ease the stubbornness framing Ben’s sullen expression by kissing him senseless.

“I don’t normally sleep with my talent,” Poe said finally. Of course, his talent roster had never included any men interested. But that was besides the point.

“Is that why you didn’t offer to manage me when I got signed?” Ben asked, tracing a light circle over Poe’s leg with his index finger. It felt like a target.

Poe laughed. “It kept things from getting too messy,” he said. Truthfully, Poe had also been too busy to add another client to his roster, especially one he was attracted to. But the thought had crossed his mind… “– _Especially_ when launching your career.”

“And now?” Ben prompted. He pushed one of Poe’s stray curls back, letting his fingers linger at Poe’s jaw. Poe leaned into his touch.

“Now I know you’re already kind of a mess,” Poe said quietly, before he pulled Ben close. He pressed a reckless kiss to Ben’s lips, wrapping a hand over Ben’s shoulder.

Before Poe could think too deeply on it, Ben had lightly teased his tongue across Poe’s bottom lip, drawing out their kiss. Ben moved, swinging a leg over Poe’s side to straddle his lap. As he deepened their kiss, he pinned Poe back into the couch cushions, hungry and demanding.

The sensation was enough to distract Poe for longer than he’d anticipated – his free hand finding the studded belt low on Ben’s hips, the music notebook on the couch next to them all but forgotten. Kissing Ben tasted like his music felt: electrifying, but needy.

And more than anything else, powerful.

It wasn’t until Ben moved to unbutton Poe’s jeans that Poe broke their kiss. He pushed Ben’s hand away lightly, amusement turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Ah,” Poe said, “Not yet,” he chided.

Ben pulled back, letting his hand fall to his side. “Because you’re still my manager?” He asked, frowning.

“Mmm, because you didn’t finish writing a song today,” Poe replied. “And my new policy is to only sleep with productive rockstars. Ones with a second album under their belt.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Ben said.

“No,” Poe said, grinning, “I’m inspiring you. Then we can discuss fucking you.”


End file.
